Samson
by SammiMD
Summary: The people closest to House examine their relationships with him. Any time pre-Season 6
1. Chapter 1 Cameron

Allison Cameron

"_You are my sweetest downfall._

_I loved you first, I loved you first._

_Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth."_

House was hanging around in the Emergency Room again. She watched him surreptitiously from under her eyelashes while filling out patient reports. She knew if he ever caught her watching him that he would make a smart-ass, sarcastic comment. So she always watched him whenever she thought she could get away with it, whenever he was distracted and his attention anywhere but on her. She knew his moods and body language so well by now. She knew when he had a new case, when he was bored, when Cuddy was riding him, when his leg was being especially painful.

She had no delusions about her feelings for House. It wasn't that she didn't love Chase. She just loved House first. She didn't know what she would do if House ever admitted feelings for her. Her feelings for Chase were real, but nothing like what she felt for House. Her love for Chase was like a warm, comforting blanket – it was always there when you needed it, but it didn't add anything special to her life. You could always go out and get another blanket.

House was like…a rollercoaster. Rollercoasters make you weak at the knees and your palms sweaty. You get nervous every time before you get on a rollercoaster, no matter how many times you may have ridden it before. Each ride is different from the one before. House made her weak at the knees, made her heart race, gave her a rush of adrenaline each time she imagined his hands on her body, his lips on hers. It was the image of House that kept her company on lonely nights, not Chase's.

But she still loved Chase, no matter what she may feel for House. A rollercoaster was thrilling and exciting for sure, but you never knew when the ride would break down or be closed due to bad weather. You always knew your blanket would be at home waiting for you whenever you needed it.

And there lay the crux of her dilemma – Chase would always be there for her. House's moods were too mercurial for her to depend on him to be anything except unpredictable. Any relationship with House, though it would be anything but boring, would never be stable. Despite Wilson reminiscing how House was when he was with Stacy, how loving, caring and happy he had been, it was post-infarction House that had driven Stacy away. Twice.

So she had kept her feelings to herself, only showing she cared in the most subtle of ways – getting in early to make the coffee just the way he liked it, having a cup waiting for him when he got in to work, doing his patient reports for him, checking and answering his mail. Sometimes she'd felt more like his PA than his Fellow. Sometimes he'd almost seemed to notice the extra lengths to which she went in order to please him. She could never tell if he was being coy or just obtuse.

Now that she was a senior attending physician in emergency she didn't get to see him as much. Sometimes, like now, he would come down to hide out from Cuddy, try and persuade her that she wanted back on his team, or try and find a case so he could avoid clinic hours. She'd had to find new ways of showing him she cared – playing politics with his Fellows to amuse him, running interference with Chase when House wanted him to do something, not telling Cuddy when he was hiding out in her department and, of course, keeping her eyes open for those special cases she knew would interest him.

Each time she found something worthy of his attention it gave her a little thrill. She tried to tell herself that it was just because she found the mystery exciting. She tried to fool herself into believing that it wasn't because she missed working the cases herself, missed working with him. Never that it was because she missed him.

So when one of those cases came her way she'd gather up the sheets of paper in the case file. She'd always sort the papers to put the less interesting test results on top just so she'd have an excuse to talk to him longer, prove that the case was worthwhile, to spend a little longer in his presence. And then she would go seek him out. She knew all his hiding places now, his little habits and routines. She sometimes felt she knew where he would be throughout the day better than he did. He always seemed surprised when she turned up unexpectedly with a case file in her hands. She liked that she could keep him on his toes.

She would hand him the file, careful to keep her expression neutral as he sneered at her. She'd ignore his taunts about her hair colour, her bust, whatever got his attention at the time. She'd remind herself that being recognised as lobby art meant that he was looking and admiring. Better to be lobby art than lobby shrubbery. Besides, she knew him well enough by now to know that House had more respect for people that could either ignore his rudeness as irrelevant, or give back as good as they got.

She'd watch as his nimble fingers flicked derisively through the first few sheets, dismissing the patient as boring. Then she would reach over and turn to the relevant page – the anomalous result or unusual observation that would pique his interest. Then everything except the case would cease to exist in his Universe. He'd pretend that he was doing her a favour or that he already knew what was wrong with the patient and she was an idiot for missing it. He'd head off to his office, file in hand. She would walk away, careful not to let him see her smiling, knowing that she'd made his day and that not much could top a new case for making him happy.

She'd go back to the ER, imagining him in his office, playing with his cane, cajoling and mocking his team, happy as a pig in mud. He'd never express any gratitude to her – she'd never get a thank you, a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates, or even a handshake. He wouldn't come down and ask her to join him for lunch or a cup of coffee.

For everyday sentimentality she always had Chase.

Dependable old Chase would always call her around lunch time to see if she was free. He would always take her out for a coffee if they were both having a slow day. Chase was there for all the little moments in her day when she just wanted to spend time with someone where every conversational nuance didn't require analysing for underlying meaning. Chase was the man she could relax around – he made no demands on her. He was the warm, comforting, dependable blanket she could wrap around herself after a day at the amusement park riding roller coasters.

But despite all her realisations of the differences between Chase and House, she still had no answer to the big 'What If?' – What if House ever admitted having feelings for her? What would she do then? What would happen if that day ever came? She had no answer to that. So she was with Chase, committed to a life with him, and continued to watch House covertly, knowing that she would always love him first, that she would hide her love for him beneath sheets of paper in a case file.


	2. Chapter 2  Wilson

James Wilson

"_Beneath the stars that came falling on our hearts._

_But they're just old light, they're just old light."_

James always wondered exactly how it was that he and House had become friends. Sure, he knew the particulars of how they'd met – the envelope of divorce papers, the shattered mirror, the ride to the police station and the amazing hangover later. But why hadn't it ended there? Had he mistaken House's love of anarchy for camaraderie? What exactly had House's motivation been that day? A man who was usually completely oblivious to other's emotions had recognised the pain in one James Wilson that day and chosen to show some compassion. House would say it was because throwing a glass into an antique mirror wasn't boring.

So House had bailed him out of jail, taken him to a bar and gotten him blind drunk. They'd ended up sharing a bottle of Scotch Whiskey, sitting in a park under the stars, singing badly to whatever songs they could half-remember the words to. And then House was there the next morning in James' hotel room, passed out on the couch. House had never asked why James had cracked that day, and after a while it didn't really seem to matter. Since then it had felt like they'd always been friends.

James was integral in House first meeting Stacy. James had been the one to convince House to go to the Doctors Vs Lawyers paintball game – he'd cajoled House by telling him it was one of the few times he'd get to bruise a lawyer without being sent to jail, and that there would be lots of hot nurses and legal clerks watching. In the end it had been the lawyer who shot House that ended up asking him out on a date. It was the first time James had seen a loving, romantic side of House. It wasn't that he saw less of House; it was just that the House he did see seemed more relaxed, less acerbic and happier. James thought Stacy was good for House and was glad that they were together.

Six months later House had turned up on James' doorstep asking him how one proposed to a woman. James never found out how that turned out – he never knew if House backed out or if Stacy found a way to turn him down without breaking his heart. Who knows, she might even have said yes. Then the infarction happened and everything changed.

Afterwards House was no longer the same person. Brusqueness turned to rudeness, superiority turned into condescension and within months House had driven away everyone except James and Stacy. Before too long James was the only one left. And that was the way it had been since. James got the occasional glimpse of the man House used to be, but for the most part James had difficulty seeing past the anger, hate and disgust with which House now faced the world. He knew his friend was still in there, he knew House was hurting, but he didn't know how to reach him.

Despite all of that, House had been there for all three of his divorces. It had been House's couch that he'd slept on each time. In return James had been House's doormat – always available when needed, forever tolerating House's caustic personality. To all of James' friends and family it was a mystery why he put up with it. To James it felt like the only thing he could do. House had been there for him at the worst time of his life, he felt like the least he could do as House's best, make that only, friend was to stick by him during the worst time of House's life. He just hoped that House would sort himself out before he destroyed himself. It would be more than James could handle if something terrible happened to House.

What James' family and friends thought was lunacy on James' behalf he had a different name for. He stuck by House through thick and thin for one reason only. He'd never admit it to anyone if asked. He could barely even admit it to himself. He certainly would never tell House that he was in love with him.

His second wife, Bonnie, had worked it out. Or at least she thought she had. She'd confronted James about it. Stacy had just left House, and James was spending every free minute with House, helping him deal with the pain of losing Stacy, helping him deal with the pain of losing his leg muscle, and his hatred of himself. Bonnie had accused James of being infatuated with House and that it wasn't normal for friends to be practically living together, even if one of them had just lost his live-in girlfriend. James had vehemently denied Bonnie's accusation. So instead he'd told her about the affair he'd been having with a nurse in oncology. Bonnie had been furious enough about that to forget about her assumptions. James had been able to keep his secret that little bit longer.

He knew it was pointless feeling the way he did about House. He knew that it was futile thinking anything could ever come of it. House had never given any indication that he was anything other than heterosexual. During House's drunker times James had sometimes felt like there were times when the line between friend and lover could be crossed. Maybe with a little more liquid courage he could cross that line. But James never took that step. He couldn't take the risk that it would destroy their friendship. For both his and House's sake their friendship was very important.

James kept the memory of the night drinking scotch under the stars with House close to his heart. That night he sat under light that came from burning balls of gas millions of miles away, light that was older than any person on earth, falling in love with a man he now no longer knew. Part of him knew that, as sweet as that memory was, the stars were always millions of miles away and always just as unreachable as Greg House.


	3. Chapter 3 Cuddy

_Samson came to my bed  
Told me that my hair was red  
Told me I was beautiful  
And came into my bed_

Lisa Cuddy was many things – sister, daughter, mother, Dean of Medicine. The list seemed almost endless. Every moment of every day she had to juggle all her different personas. Probably her hardest role came under the guise of being the Dean of Medicine. Not only did she have to manage a hospital, see patients, resolve staff issues, and answer to the Board of Directors but she had also appointed herself as Doctor Greg House's Publicist. At least that's how she liked to call it. Others had called it Protector, Saviour, even Nanny. Lisa preferred Publicist – the person who tried to keep your worst deeds out of the public eye, only present the best side of you and tried, as much as was possible, to keep you from doing something stupid that would be impossible to cover up.

As much as he could be a pain in the ass House really was an asset to the hospital. Sure he only saw one patient a week on average but it was that one patient that made him invaluable – he was the modern-day Sherlock Holmes of the diagnostic world, solving seemingly unsolvable medical mysteries. He was internationally famous as a medical genius. Unfortunately he was also famous for his abrasive personality and unorthodox bedside manner. She knew if he ever learned to get along with other people and follow protocol that she would have a hard time keeping him at PPTH – the high-paying job offers would be coming in thick from all corners of the globe. But House hated people, hated patients, and would never play nice with others. So he remained the property of PPTH, at a budget price no less, and Cuddy's responsibility.

Lisa never truly understood why House had chosen to work for a teaching hospital where he might be required to interact with med students. It had surprised her when, as Dean of Medicine, she'd found House's resume on her desk. PPTH had just opened up a diagnostics department and the call had gone out for doctors wanting to take part. Cuddy had heard of House's reputation, and of his inability to get hired by most hospitals because of his personality, but she'd been sure that somewhere else would be prepared to put up with him in order to secure his reputation, so she'd been surprised when he had applied for a job. Even more unusual was that he hadn't applied to be head of the department, but only employed as a casual consultant. Of course, she'd called him in for an interview.

She'd done so, not sure if he would remember her from Med School. She certainly remembered him. He had been famous even then – irreverent, disrespectful, and oh so smart. He had no fear of correcting professors in class or asking questions well advanced of the material they were meant to be studying. Everyone knew he was destined for great things, if only he could show due respect to his peers and superiors. He hadn't been surly and rude back then. In fact he'd been almost charming, in his own way – sometimes blatant honesty could be more alluring than candy-coated compliments. House would tell you outright if he thought you were an idiot, but he'd also acknowledge and praise you when you'd done something right. That much, at least, had changed.

Cuddy remembered their brief affair with a mingling of fondness and regret. She'd met him in the campus bookstore and been enthralled with his ability to read so much about her from a mere syllabus printout. She'd found out who he was, gotten herself assigned to audit his endocrinology class, and made sure she attended the few social events he did. When one of the frat houses had a hoe down they'd both been there, and she'd done her best to seduce him. In the end he managed to seduce her – he told her that in the light from the bonfire her hair looked more red than brown, less boring, far more interesting. Under normal circumstances his comments would have come across as insulting but from someone like him she'd read the subtext – he'd noticed her enough to know what her hair looked like, he thought she was beautiful.

They'd spent the night together in her dorm room. Charming House had been in full swing – they'd talked, made love, talked some more. He'd held her close to him and actually said the words "You're beautiful". She'd pointedly ignored the qualifier "in this light" that he'd tacked onto the end. She'd fallen asleep in his arms, her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat and wondering where this might lead.

In the morning he was gone.

She told herself that he hadn't run out on her, that it had meant more to him than just sex. But when a week went by and he hadn't called, or even done so much as put a note under her door, she'd made up her mind and moved on. Part of her noticed that he wasn't showing up to classes anymore. When the rumour finally reached her that'd he'd been expelled from school for cheating she'd used that to justify his absence. She still wondered what had kept him from calling her. She still thought about that one perfect night with him. After a while even that faded into memory and she was just left with a faint sense of having missed out on something special.

But someone like House couldn't just disappear completely. After graduating from Med School she'd had more time to read medical journals and publications. His name cropped up on articles, Letters to the Editor and awards ceremonies. His reputation began to grow as an up-and-coming hotshot, but with the serious character flaw of being completely disrespectful to everyone. Nonetheless, his genius and talent were universally acknowledged.

So there she was, youngest female Dean of Medicine, working at a prestigious hospital, about to interview the man she had once considered as a potential soul mate. Part of her felt school girl excitement at seeing him again. The rest of her wondered why he was interested in this particular job. She'd soon found out. Her phone had rung multiple times that day with Deans from other hospitals warning her about House and how much mayhem he would cause in her hospital if she hired him. It suddenly became clear – House was desperate for a job and thought he'd have more chance getting a consultant's position than a department head. Suffice it to say that when he turned up for his interview she'd already made up her mind to turn him away.

Then she'd seen him and all those feelings from 10 years past came flooding back – he was a little more worn around the edges now, a little more grey, a little more tired looking. He still had that twinkle in his periwinkle blue eyes though. When her secretary ushered him into her office he'd given her a visual once-over. Rather than feeling insulted by his appraisal she had the urge to preen under his gaze. She'd had to remind herself that she was a Dean of Medicine and not some hormone-ridden teenaged girl. He strode confidently to her desk and extended a hand to shake hers.

"Lisa…" he'd greeted her informally

"Dr House…" she'd replied, trying to maintain a sense of decorum.

He'd quirked an eyebrow at her formality, shaken her hand and taken a seat. Despite her previous determination that he wasn't fit for the job she still gave him a fair chance at the interview. She soon saw why nobody else wanted him on their staff. He was a little too direct, a little too blunt. When she mentioned that any position at PPTH came with compulsory guest lectures to the students and hours volunteering at the free clinic, she saw his lip visibly curl. An interruption at her door had prevented her from sending him away right then.

One of her diagnostic interns had come in asking for a consult. He had a 20 year old patient that was suffering from increasing occurrences of slurred speech, coordination problems and difficulty swallowing. He thought she had Friedreich's Ataxia and wanted permission to get her into the idebenone drug trials. House had looked up and asked one question: Is she Jewish? At receiving an affirmative response, House had completely railroaded the intern. He'd stated that it wasn't Friedreich's Ataxia but LOTS - Late-Onset Tay-Sachs. Rare, but more common in AshkenaziJews. An argument had ensued between House and the intern.

House ended up turning to Cuddy and telling her that a simple retinal exam would solve the problem – if the patient had a red macula then she had Tay-Sachs. If not then go ahead with trying to get her into the Friedreich's drug trial. Cuddy had been so impressed with House's confidence in his diagnosis that she'd instructed the intern to go do the test. She'd concluded the interview and told House she'd inform him by the end of the week as to the outcome.

An hour later the intern had returned and told Cuddy that his patient had a red macula and would be receiving treatment for Tay-Sachs. That made up Cuddy's mind for her. None of the other candidates had even a tenth of House's ability. She'd just have to find a way to control him. She'd called him immediately and offered him the position of Head of Diagnostics. After much wrangling over terms he'd accepted. And the rest, as they say, is history.

10 years had seen them go through a lot together – House's infarction and Stacy leaving him, House's increasing dependence on Vicodin, being shot by Jack Moriarty and the subsequent ketamine treatment, the failure of the ketamine treatment, and the re-emergence of his complete reliance on narcotics to deal with everyday life. Somehow she'd managed to keep House from burning down the hospital or destroying too many pieces of machinery (apart from that poor MRI machine – he seemed to have a grudge against it). She'd watched his slow spiral into destruction, wondering where and how it would end, wishing she knew what to do to help him out of the hole he had dug for himself.

And every time he stormed into her office to make a ridiculous demand, insulted her in front of other staff, or berated a patient for being an idiot a little piece of her heart broke.

She wished she could turn back time to when he was a young man full of potential, holding her in his arms and telling her that her hair was more red than brown.

….….….….….

_FYI - Friedreich's Ataxia and LOTS/Tay-Sachs are real diseases. Tay-Sachs is often misdiagnosed and is more prevalent amongst Jewish, Cajun and French Canadian populations. _

_Please review or I'll curl up in the corner and cry!_


	4. Chapter 4  House

Greg House

"_Samson went back to bed,_

_Not much hair left on his head._

_Ate a slice of Wonder Bread_

_And went right back to bed."_

Every day is the same. The same grinding tedium, the same wearing down of his patience and the same mind numbing misery.

Every morning he woke up to the prospect of facing the same hell as the previous day. All that changed was the weather, the case, and the amount of cleavage Cuddy was exposing. His only joys in life came from his motorbike, annoying Wilson, and tormenting Cuddy. Even those past-times had begun to lose their shine. The only thing that didn't seem old and humdrum was his favourite soaps. Then again, there was only so much television one could watch.

So his days followed the same boring routine – waking up in agony, half-wishing that this could have been the day his drug and alcohol abuse could finally have gotten the better of him. His alarm screeching on the bedside table barely registered over the pain screeching in his leg. He would slap the alarm off, grabbing his vicodin bottle on the way back, popping his first of many pills for the day. Then he would lie in bed, waiting for the drug to flood his system and take the pain back to a barely-tolerable level.

Morning was always the worst – after a night lying almost motionless his muscles would be stiff and sore. It was hard to toss and turn into a more comfortable position with his bum leg. He knew that once he got moving that the muscles would warm up, the kinks would work out, and his pain would become more bearable. It was just the period where he was lying in bed, waiting for the narcotics to take effect, trying to find the gumption to face the agony that would result from trying to get out of bed.

Eventually he'd manage it, gritting his teeth and swinging his legs out of bed. Leaning heavily on his cane he'd make his way to the bathroom to shower. Everyone thought he was lazy about his appearance – the ruffled hair, the unshaven face, the crumpled shirt. What they didn't know was that it was all too hard in the morning. He could barely stand in the shower long enough to get clean, let alone shaving, brushing his hair, or ironing his shirt. That was why he usually shaved at night before going to bed so that his scruffiness stayed at least manageable.

Pop another pill.

Everything relied on his leg – when he got up, what he wore to work, how he got to work, how many pills he popped a day. That last one had also started to be influenced by his boredom level - the drugs were a way to escape the misery that his life had become. He found himself caring less and less about how self-destructive his behaviour was becoming. He had cared at one point. He had always known when he'd gone too far, pushed people's tolerance, popped too many pills. These days it was easier to take more drugs than take a look in the mirror. It was too hard trying to change what couldn't be fixed.

When he finally managed to get to work his leg then dictated whether or not he went straight to his office. A good day meant he spent some time collecting messages from reception and looking for an opportunity to cause Cuddy grief. He got a morbid fascination out of forcing himself to spend time in her presence. Out of all his associates at work, seeing her was always the hardest – she reminded him of lost opportunities, misspent youth, and the folly of believing that he could have anything in this world he wanted just because he was brilliant. Cuddy was the first thing he had lost to his anti-social behaviour and egotistical attitude. He tormented her as a way of tormenting himself.

Conversely a bad day meant he went straight to the lift, head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone. If he didn't look at people he couldn't see the pity in their eyes. He hated nothing more than being pitied. Nobody could look at him and see the genius Diagnostician. They all assumed he was a patient – a cripple here for physical therapy, a war veteran getting his yearly check-up, anything other than a doctor. The pity in their eyes stripped away the think shell of his pride and left him feeling naked and vulnerable. He never looked up. If he was especially lucky one of his team would meet him in the lobby with a new case and he would fend off the boredom for a while, concentrating on his work, never having to see anybody pitying him as he matched his wits against whatever disease was trying to kill his patient.

Being met in the lobby by a case-bearing team member didn't happen so much now Cameron wasn't on his team. He would never admit that he missed her, or her passion for the job, but he sometimes wished she would meet him in the lobby, waving a file in front of her, trying to persuade him that it was something that would interest him. He_ would_ admit, at least to himself, that she knew him well enough to only present him with cases that were worthy of his attention.

In the quietness of his own mind he knew that he missed his old team and maybe one fellow in particular more than the others. The ER nurses hadn't seen enough of him previously to know to avoid him. Now they knew him on sight and steered clear. They left him for Cameron to deal with. He told himself he was spending more time in the ER because he was trying to pester her into coming back to work for him, or even just to annoy Cuddy through Cameron.

House found Cameron's obsession with him aggravating. Mostly because he couldn't work out if she thought she could fix him or because she had an older-man-come-mentor infatuation with him. He didn't believe she truly had any feelings for him. How could anyone possibly love a cantankerous old cripple? He wasn't fool enough, or high enough, to convince himself that she had any true feelings for him.

As for him? Well, any time he caught himself contemplating the possibilities, looking at her as anything other than a doctor or lobby art, he felt honest disgust with himself. He, of course, blamed that drop in self-respect on her, punished her for it. Maybe if he was enough of a jerk to her she'd leave forever and he'd never have to feel that way again. Maybe he could drive her away from him the same way he had with Cuddy.

But sometimes he caught her looking at him with something other than pity – with an almost hungry, needing look. At those times he doubted his convictions, lashed out at her for making him think he could have the impossible. On those days he'd go home to spend some quality time with a woman who charged by the hour, and then left him alone to drink himself into oblivion.

Such behaviour always resulted in a visit from the embodiment of his conscience. Cameron would go running to Wilson, and Wilson would come to annoy House. If he was still conscious when Wilson turned up he'd let him in, listen to him elucidate the folly of House's ways. House would then mock him until he either left in frustration or gave up to sit down and watch TV together.

Pop another pill.

It wasn't that House couldn't care about anyone else; he just found it easier to intentionally annoy everyone around him rather than feel the disappointment and pain of rejection when people eventually worked out how much of an ass he really was. He'd found that caring about people inevitably led to disappointment and unhappiness. He figured he could just skip all the effort in the middle and go straight on to lonely and miserable. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

He looked at the people in his life and wondered why they bothered to put up with him. Wilson was co-dependent, his constant enabler and companion. He'd lost at least one wife due to his friendship with House, loaned him more money than any reasonable friend could expect, and even been threatened with jail time for covering for him. Why on Earth would the moron stick around for more punishment? House knew Wilson would always answer his calls, would always come when asked. He could only assume that Wilson wasn't entirely mentally stable. House fulfilled his need to be needed. If he ever became independent Wilson would no longer need him

Then there was Cameron. The silly girl didn't even know who she really was. She'd spent her entire life going against the norm. She was a beautiful woman who'd studied medicine and been in the top of her class, not taking advantage of her aesthetic qualities. She was a doctor who'd married a man with terminal cancer, knowing full well that he had little time left. She'd been an intern at the Mayo Clinic and given up her position to come and work for him at a small hospital in a nearly inactive department. Cameron always tried to make things harder for herself. House couldn't work out what she thought she was compensating for. Now she'd gone against the grain again and deluded herself into thinking she was in love with a scruffy, grouchy old cripple twice her age. House wasn't stupid enough to think that she'd maintain that particular delusion for long if he wasn't damaged goods. House fulfilled her need to fix the unfixable. If he was whole and sociable Cameron would no longer want him.

This brought him to Lisa Cuddy. He'd thought once that he could possibly have a future with her. She'd been interesting, intelligent and ambitious, but realistic about her goals. Their brief fling together had ended far too abruptly and House still felt the need to explain things to her. But what was the point? He'd rocked too many boats and stepped on too many toes to fit into the neat and perfect world that Cuddy occupied. He kept their fling a secret, knowing that revealing that particular gem would not only drive her away, but tarnish her reputation. He felt no need to cause that level of damage. He believed she'd only hired him and kept him on staff because of the prestige having a diagnostician of his calibre on the books lent to the hospital. If he ever told her how he'd once felt about her she'd just laugh in his face. So instead he mocked and taunted her, pushing to see how far he could go before she gave up, realised what a jerk he was, that the hospital didn't need him, and sent him packing. House fulfilled her need to be seen as the best of the best. If he became detrimental enough to the hospital's reputation Cuddy would no longer want him.

So his life boiled down to soap operas, drugs, alcohol and misery. He was a husk of a man, a degenerate with personality flaws a mile wide, and a cripple just to top it all off. He knew he was completely unlovable. He knew he would always be alone and miserable, so why fight it. If he pushed everyone away before they could get close to him then he'd never have to worry about hurting anyone. Or being hurt himself. The world could go to hell for all he cared. Just pop another pill, have another glass of scotch and go back to bed. Hopefully one day soon it would all end, one way or another, and everyone he made miserable could get on with their lives without him around messing things up.

Pop another pill and let unloved, unlovable, unwanted House fade away.


End file.
